A Golden Kingdom (Knights of the Round Table - Book 1)
by DrarryHarmon
Summary: [Book 1 of 5] Gwaine's life changes indefinitely when he meets the infamous (to him, anyway) Prince of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon. More specifically, Arthur's trusted manservant.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: This story is not set in any particular season. Some things happen before they do in canon, and some things never occur at all. Book one contains many canonical scenes from the TV show, but book two and onwards will greatly diverge from actual canon. You don't actually need to watch** _ **Merlin**_ **to know what's going on, nor do you need to have any prior knowledge of the Arthurian Legends. 'Accuracy' is not a thing in this series, much like the actual TV show.**

 **Some unrequited Gwaine/Merlin and eventual Merlin/Arthur (not in this book).**

 **I make no profit from this endeavor, and I do not own** _ **Merlin**_ **or the legends. All original characters are my own.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

 **Chapter One**

 _"Afternoon. What'll it be?"_

 _"Uh..."_

 _"Mmm... you're an 'andsome fellow."_

 _"Well, you wouldn't be the first to say it."_

 _"Oh, no sorry. I was talkin' about your frien' here."_

 _"... Him?"_

 _"Mmhmm."_

 _"Oh... thank you."_

 _"Two tankards of mead, please."_

A pause.

 _"I was wrong. Coming here was a great idea."_

Gwaine smirked and brought his cup to his lips, gulping down the burning liquid inside. He'd seen the two men come in to the tavern and immediately knew they didn't really belong there. The first one - with hair so blond, Gwaine swore it must be gold - had strutted in like he owned the place, in fine, obviously expensive wear, while the other - a tall, lanky man - simply meandered along behind him, with an air about him that said he would rather be _anywhere_ else.

He had met plenty men like the first before, ones who thought they were royalty, who truly believed they were better than everybody else, who strode through life looking pretty and knowing it, demanding attention wherever they wandered. And he _was_ a good-looking fellow, Gwaine would give him that, but he reminded him too much of his own family for him to think anymore of him. And didn't _that_ thought just have him absolutely shuddering.

But the other one. He was the man who truly fascinated Gwaine, the moment he first walked in behind his friend. Though he wore nothing near such high quality as the other one - only a simple blue tunic and some trousers, with a brown jacket, some old boots, and a red cloth wrapped around his neck - he was especially intriguing to Gwaine, and he couldn't even really figure out why. If nothing else, the man was funny, and he definitely liked that in a bloke.

The thought quickly swept away as the door opened once again to admit a burly-looking man with a threat in his eyes. And suddenly Gwaine knew there was about to be trouble. He thought he really shouldn't be shivering with excitement quite so obviously.

He watched the man swagger in, pausing briefly to spitefully slap the plates of a passing serving girl out of her arms. Gwaine tensed as he came to a stop a few feet from the counter.

"Afternoon, Mary. Business looks good."

"We 'ave our better days," the woman from before - who Gwaine assumed was the owner - muttered, her earlier cheerfulness completely absent as a look of dread washed over her face.

Gwaine glowered at the man at this. Oh, he was going to enjoy what came next.

"I don't suppose you'll begrudge me my share, then," he said, menacing as he went closer still.

The woman, Mary, tossed a few gold coins onto the counter in front of him with a look of trepidation.

The man quickly counted the coins before he was leaning forward. Gwaine clenched and unclenched his fist in preparation.

"And the rest?" he demanded.

"That's all we've got."

The man suddenly lunged forward and grasped the front of the woman's dress, a dagger in his other fist. " _I'll not ask again!_ "

Gwaine was almost on his feet before another voice, cool as ice, stopped him in his tracks.

"Take your hands off her."

Gwaine did a double-take as the man with hair blond as gold stepped forward, lips pursed, stance relaxed and - surprisingly - predatory, eyes gleaming with something that almost seemed to spell a challenge. Gwaine briefly wondered if he'd judged too soon.

He watched as the burly man turned and charged forward, the blond fellow already ducking with a speed and agility that spoke of years of training. Gwaine fancied himself almost impressed. _Almost_.

The blond man took action before the bulky guy could even retrieve his bearings, kicking out and knocking him into the barrels of mead. Gwaine couldn't believe his luck. He hadn't found such an entertaining place to get smashed in ages.

As the burly man was getting up, a look of seething hatred in his eyes, the blond fellow crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.

"I'm gonna make you pay for that," the burly one snarled.

Suddenly, another voice piped up. "I'd like to see you try," it said, amusement clear as crystal.

Gwaine was less than surprised now to see it came from the friend of the blond's. He found that the two of them were not at all what they appeared. And he was positively delighted by it.

The burly man snapped his head around to glower at the lanky fellow. He abruptly stopped chuckling and looked away as the other man took a threatening step closer. Then the man was bringing his fingers to his lips and whistling.

 _A signal,_ Gwaine realized a moment before the door to the tavern barged open, and another dozen or so other men started pouring inside.

This just kept getting better and better.

The lanky man was on his feet in a moment, his blue eyes widening in shock and looking slightly guilty. Gwaine had to smother a snort of amusement. He'd never met another like him in all his wandering days, and his fascination only piqued further the more he observed the other man.

"You had to open your big mouth, didn't you, Merlin?" drawled the blond man.

 _Merlin_. So that's what he was called. _A unique name for a unique individual_.

Gwaine finally got to his feet, his cup of mead still held precariously in his hand, and sauntered forward. "You two have got yourselves in a bit of a pickle, haven't you?" he said, coming to a halt in front of the blond fellow and the burly man, and glanced around at the other patrons.

"You should get out of here while you have the chance," said the blond man - and Gwaine seriously needed to learn his name - passing a fleeting look to his friend.

"You're probably right." Gwaine took one last sip of his beverage, sighing at the burn of it, and then passed the tankard to the burly man, who looked at it in confusion. Gwaine grinned as he looked up, and promptly sucker-punched him in the face. The mead went flying as the burly man tripped backwards into the barrels, and madness rapidly spread throughout the joint.

He relished madness.

One of the newly arriving men blundered towards him, while his fellow cronies, the patrons, and staff alike scrambled after each other. Gwaine grabbed the man by one of his shoulders, and, before he could get a move in edgewise, punched him twice in the gut, throwing him to the floor. He blew a long brown lock of hair from his face, and turned to see Merlin kicking another of the men in the arse, watching him tumble to the ground. He smirked, then glimpsed a blond head taking on another brawny male almost twice his size, then getting thrown into a pillar and taking a punch to the gut, and then another to the face. Gwaine winced, but had little time to do much more as a jug came flying towards his head. He ducked.

"Arthur!" That was Merlin.

Gwaine turned in time to see the man dodge a blow to the head.

"Merlin!" His fellow blond friend. Merlin turned to the man, who was currently being held down to a table by the same beefy fellow. "Behind you!"

Gwaine watched Merlin duck just in time as a giant vase went flying towards his head, barely missing before striking the wall just behind him and shattering to pieces.

A man then tackled him unawares, and Gwaine struggled to detach him. He elbowed him in the stomach, but the man kept clutching at his shoulders. Another man came out of nowhere, hefting a small table above his head, and Gwaine saw his chance. He jerked to the side just as the piece of furniture was coming down, crashing into his assailant and rendering him unconscious.

The man who had previously possessed the table pounced at him after pausing to see the damage he'd created. Gwaine easily caught the man around the neck, stumbling backward across the room at the force of the impact, towards the counter. He caught himself on the edge and brought his knee up to collide with the head of his attacker, and the man fell unceremoniously to the ground.

When Gwaine had regathered his bearings, he turned to the man behind the counter, who happened to be Merlin, and a charming smile was spreading across his lips, almost involuntarily. "Pass the jug," he said, pointing. Merlin stared at him warily for a split second, but eventually turned to grab the jug Gwaine had been gesturing to and passed it over.

Gwaine took a brief moment to catch his breath, then grabbed the proffered flagon and took a giant gulp of the liquid within.

At Merlin's sharp intake of breath, he lowered the jug and sucker-punched the man pummeling towards him in the jaw, dropping him to the floor. He then turned quickly back to Merlin, brushing his long hair aside.

"What do they call you, then?" he asked, even though he already knew.

He just wanted to hear as the man breathed out a hasty "Merlin."

Gwaine smiled and held out his hand, which Merlin promptly took. "Gwaine, pleasure to meet you."

A growl came from behind him, and Merlin stared at a point behind his head with wide eyes, gaping and gesturing. Gwaine took it for the warning it was, grabbing up the jug once more and turning just in time to smash it over the incoming man's head.

He spun back round to face Merlin once more, still smiling. "Such a waste, huh?" He laughed once at Merlin's bewildered look, then jumped back into the chaos.

The blond-haired fellow was now going after the burly man from before, and they punched and pummeled each other until the burly man shoved him to the floor and took out another dagger. He rushed his attack, and the blond man wasn't getting up fast enough.

So Gwaine, of course, charged headfirst towards the burly fellow, grasping him round the shoulders and taking him hard to the ground. Gwaine groaned at the impact, dizzy, and tried to make out the faces above and around him. What the hell had happened? Did he really hit that hard?

He tried to get up, but barely made it to his feet as a sharp pain registered in his left thigh. Gwaine searched for the wound, gritting his teeth. The bastard had caught him right above the side of his knee. He could discern nothing else as he keeled backwards, falling back into a bench before collapsing beside the senseless burly man with a grunt of pain.

And then he was out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Gwaine choked slightly and let out a rough cough, then inhaled deeply through his nose. Immediately, he was filled with suspicion at the unusual scent that filtered through his scences. He was used to waking up in the rooms of inns, or even passed out in an alley. He was familiar with the scent of alcohol and the rusty smell of bed linens, and even occasionally the sharp stench of vomit.

But this was different. Wherever he was smelled strongly of herbs and flowery fragrances. Then he registered that he was laying on his back on a firm, but lumpy mattress. When he opened his eyes, he encountered a bright light streaming in through a window to his right, just managing to resist the urge to groan in agony and start clawing his eyes out. He had a massive headache that was the thing of nightmares. Which, all things considered, was rather odd, as he was usually quite capable of holding his drink. Well, _drinks_. Lots of them.

He sat up carefully and rested on an elbow, bringing one palm up to caress his aching head. (He valiantly ignored the twinge in his knee.) Taking a cursory glance around the small room _someone_ must have deposited him in, he relaxed, taking note of his possessions near the wall beside him, and the unthreatening aura that filled the small space.

A wooden door in front of him was suddenly creaking open, and he recognized Merlin standing in the doorway, a tray in his hands laden with something that smelled very much like _breakfast_.

Gwaine hesitated. "What am I doing in this bed?"

Merlin stepped quickly inside, not bothering to close the door all the way behind him. "You were wounded," he said, setting down the tray on a small side table beside the bed. "Arthur wanted to make sure you were treated by his physician."

Gwaine stilled. "Arthur?"

Merlin nodded slowly. "Prince Arthur. You saved his life."

Gwaine could not contain a huffed chuckle of contempt, and muttered, "If I'd known who he was, I probably wouldn't have." He sat up all the way and situated the pillow he'd been laying on in a way to better supported his back, then elaborated when he saw Merlin's puzzled expression. "He's a noble.

Merlin nodded in a way that showed he understood what the other man meant, but wasn't necessarily in agreement. " _Yeah_ , but he's a good man."

Gwaine scoffed, but decided against arguing with him. "If you say so."

The lanky man ignored his comment, instead turning to him with a look of delight, and said, "You're a hero. The king wants to thank you in person."

At that moment, Gwaine had been taking a sip of the water Merlin had brought with him on the tray, and startled, accidentally inhaling the water and subsequently making his throat burn. "Please - no. I've met a few kings." He returned the small cup to its tray. "Once you've met one, you've met them all."

"He'll probably give you a reward."

"I'm not interested." He popped a grape from a bowl into his mouth. "'Sides, I've got everything I need," he turned to his duffle bag and patted the old leather, "right here."

Merlin opened his mouth, but didn't appear to know what to say, so settled on, "Why did you help us?"

Gwaine grinned at this, fixing his arms behind his head, just now noticing his nude torso. He blinked, looking back to Merlin. "Your chances were between slim and none," he said, settling onto the pillow and grinning smugly. "I, uh - I guess I just kinda liked the look of those odds."

Merlin gave a soft snort of disbelief, but still, he smiled.

When Merlin had left the room (which he had later told Gwaine was his), Gwaine sat on the edge of the bed facing towards the window. He pulled on his boots that lay next to his other belongings, and then tugged on his loose shirt.

At the bells ringing outside, he got up and moved to the window, opening it with a _pop._ At once he realized just how high up he was, in some sort of tower that connected to the rest of the castle, gazing out of the city that he reckoned was probably much like any other he'd been to.

Not that he'd ever really had a view like this.

Citizens of Camelot bustled about their day, buying and selling their goods, completing their duties, and just generally going about their daily business as they would on any other day.

He smiled, loving the simplicity of it all, and decided he would take a closer look around. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, and he certainly wasn't going to just sit around here all day.

With that, he made his way out of Merlin's room, down a couple stairs into what could only be the physician's chambers, through the door, and found his way around the maze of the castle hallways, until finally he was out into the courtyard.

He grinned and nodded to anyway who made eye contact, even bowing slightly to any man or woman who might catch his fancy.

One girl in particular caught his eye. A serving girl by the looks of the basket in her arms and the white pinafore she wore over her purple dress. She had dark skin, and her curly hair was pulled slightly back from her face, and she had a look in her brown eyes that intrigued her to Gwaine.

She passed him by without a glance, making Gwaine pause. Another girl passed with a basketful of flowers, which made Gwaine's decision for him, really. He took a small, white flower from the many varieties to choose from, and jogged back the way he'd come.

"I believe this belongs to you."

The girl turned as he reached her, not appearing to be particularly impressed. "I don't think so," she said, looking to the flower he held. "It's not my color."

She tried to move past him, but Gwaine was not deterred so easily.

"Ah, let us see."

The girl stopped and stared as Gwaine settled the short stem of the flower behind her ear so only the soft petals were on display.

"I bet you've got a whole bunch of those to hand out," she said when Gwaine had moved back to admire his work. She still didn't look to be affected by his charm, though.

"No," he denied, lifting his hands to show her he held no others. "Your's is the only one."

She only chuckled, and once more tried to pass him, but again he stopped her, grabbing ahold of her hand, which he noticed was callous and rough from hard labor and a lot of work. He admired her even more. "I'm Gwaine."

The girl only shook his hand, once, and then tried to pull back. Gwaine stubbornly held on. "You haven't told me your name."

The girl sighed.

"You look like a princess to me," he went on, "so it's probably something like Sophia or Esmeralda." He smirked. "That's it. _Princess Esmeralda._ " He gave a deep bow, still keeping his hold on her hand.

She started to look slightly overwhelmed - only slightly - and glanced around at the small audience they'd gathered with their display. "Stop it. People are staring."

Gwaine tilted his head, smug, and said, "Not until you tell me your name."

"It's Gwen."

"There." Gwaine smiled, straightening. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Gwen looked exasperated, still trying to move around him, but Gwaine halted her gently. "Let me carry that," he said, indicating the basket she was holding. "A princess shouldn't have to lump her washing around."

"Unfortunately, I'm not a princess," she returned mildly.

"Ah, but you see - you are to me."

Her expression twisted into one of surprised amusement, and she allowed herself a short laugh, turning her head away. She quickly turned back to him though, obviously trying not to grin and show what she really though of his 'charm'.

"This isn't working, is it?"

"No, not really," Gwen shook her head. Though at least now she was smiling. "But I like that you tried, and that you know when to give up."

She chuckled, and retrieved the flower from her hair. "You better have this," she said, handing it back to him. "In case someone else takes your fancy."

He took it back as she walked away, his gaze never leaving her form. "I've only eyes for you!"

She didn't slow her pace, hardly even turning around. "I'm sure."

It was clear she didn't believe him. Gwaine couldn't help grinning as she walked away, putting the flower stem to his lips and biting down, smiling around the delicate petals.

 _Gwen._

He liked her. Almost as much as he was coming to like Merlin.

He turned and went on his way, the path paved with dirt and surrounded by vendors. The air was hot and mucky, and the farther he went, the more crowded it got.

Gwaine wasn't one for staying in the same place for any long length of time, but he'd liked the people he met so far and he wasn't in any hurry to leave.

He had left 'home' when he was but sixteen, dreaming of the many adventures that lay in wait in the big world he'd never before had the chance to explore. It made his decision to leave all the easier once he realized just what a load of 'noble' pricks his family had been. Full of shite, they were, and Gwaine was happy to get away.

He only regretted that he'd had to leave his little brother behind. The only tolerable one of the bunch, really.

He sighed as he reminisced, his hand drifting almost unconsciously to the pendants round his neck. He stroked the sliver charm piece that said brother had given to him when he learned of Gwaine's upcoming departure. In return, Gwaine gave the boy a cheap beaded bracelet he'd won in a gamble at a tavern.

Inevitably, his fingers found their way to the silver band always resting beside the charm. His heart ached as painful memories sprung to the fore of his mind, as they always did when he was reminded of the ring that lay on his chest, so near his heart.

He released his grasp quickly, almost as if he had been burned, shoving the thoughts and memories to a deep, dark corner of his mind so he didn't have to be thinking of them, striding around the city with a forced grin tilting up his lips.

He wandered without purpose, admiring a woman's displayed ware of many different intricately-marked trinkets, colorful beads, assorted stones, and various other baubles. He chatted up an attractive blonde girl, who blushed prettily at his compliments and gave him a handful of blueberries for his troubles. These he popped into his mouth a few at a time, enjoying the tang they left on his tongue. Only once they were gone did he realize how hungry he was.

The sun was high in the sky, and he'd been walking around all afternoon. A little girl selling sweetmeats crossed his path, and Gwaine graciously bought what remained in her small bag with a few of the coins he always carried around with him.

Drained, and with his wounded leg starting to ache to high heaven, Gwaine thought it a good time to get a drink.

He stopped two handsome men about to pass by him - one giant of a man who wore a passive, non-threatening expression, and another with ruffled hair and kind brown eyes - and asked for the best place to go to find a good cup of mead.

He was delighted to find that they both seemed intrigued by him, politely pointing him in the direction of _The Rising Sun_ , which was apparently 'Camelot's finest'.

Gwaine thanked them, and proceeded the way they'd directed him, filing their faces to memory in case he should ever see them again.

Once he was inside the tavern - that admittedly didn't look much different from any other, save for the red and gold banners adorning the walls - Gwaine ordered himself a drink.

And another one.

And another one.

And another.

Soon he was tipsy and swaying slightly, guffawing loudly with the fellas surrounding him as he told them of his many misadventures, buying them all drink after drink without a thought to the fact that he couldn't possibly afford them.

He had the place roaring by the time he was positively drunk off his arse, arm thrown around some guy's broad shoulders to keep him from collapsing. Even with the massive hangovers he got the mornings after his wild nights, he never really regretted his actions.

That is, until Merlin was suddenly in front of him, lips turned down in a frown of disapproval.

As he did this sort of thing all the time, Gwaine really couldn't justify why the expression had him feeling so disappointed in himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Merlin was sitting at the old rickety wooden table with Gaius - the court physician, and also his mentor - eating dinner, when Gwen poked her head into the room.

"Merlin, I think you need to come with me," was all she said before she left again, obviously expecting him to follow.

Merlin sighed at the never-ending disturbances that filled his every day in Camelot. He sent Gaius a look, which the old man returned with the ever-present raise of his brow. Only the two of them knew how tirelessly Merlin worked to keep Camelot running smoothly. The kingdom had a tendency of drawing trouble from beyond its borders - and sometimes even from inside them - which had much to do with the laws it imposed.

Magic had been outlawed in Camelot for more than two decades, and conspiring with the acts of sorcery was a crime punishable by death. King Uther had implemented this decree after the birth of his son, Arthur, and subsequently the death of his beloved Queen, Ygraine. The Great Purge brought with it not only an era without magic, but the eradication of the hundreds who practiced it. As well as - for the unfortunate ones - those unfairly judged.

Many enemies of Camelot arose in the subsequent years, to no one's surprise, and Merlin had found his place - not only as Prince Arthur's manservant, but also as defender of Camelot. He fought against the magical foes who desired harm upon Arthur and his kingdom with magic of his own.

Yes, he did see the irony of this. Yes, he did realize that this made him something of an idiot. _Of course_ , he understood that if he got caught, he'd be readily executed without a spared thought to his heroic deeds. But after these reflections, came the thoughts of destiny, of a new age with a united Albion, a land of tomorrow where magic users might roam free and without fear. And once he was content that he'd given these maudlin and most obvious rationalizations enough attention, he would recognize his true reason, the most _important_ one.

This was, of course, that he could not bear to see harm come to Arthur.

And so he risked his neck day in and day out, all to protect Arthur and their shared destiny, without an ounce of recognition for his troubles, and only Gaius to share with the truth.

Well, him and Lancelot.

And the dragon.

But Merlin didn't like to mention the dragon.

Merlin excused himself with a nod and grudgingly followed Gwen out into the hall, where she was waiting a few paces away. She gave him a grim look, but didn't spare a word as she led him into the town. Merlin really oughtn't have been surprised when she stopped in front of _The Rising Sun_ , Camelot's most well-known tavern/inn.

She gestured irritably towards the doors, muttered firmly, "Gwaine," and turned on her heel, leaving without a second glance.

Merlin sighed and hung his head. When did this become his life? Nothing ever happened in Ealdor, his home town, like it did in Camelot.

He hesitantly made his way in, conscious of the racket and the sharp stench of alcohol. And to think that Arthur really believed he came _here_ all those times he'd gone missing when he'd really been trying to save his unappreciative arse.

When he found Gwaine, flushed and practically hanging off of some guy's shoulders, he frowned and went over to him. However, a man, who Merlin recognized as the owner, stopped him in his path.

"You know him?" he growled, motioning to where Gwaine stood limply, laughing loudly at something his fellow patron was saying.

Merlin swallowed, but nodded. "Yeah, he's... my friend."

The owner grumbled and shoved a piece of parchment into his hands. Merlin's eyes widened at the incredibly long list of alcoholic beverages Gwaine had apparently bought. "You drank all this?" he demanded, turning to Gwaine.

Gwaine grinned, "With some help from my new friends!" He waved, and Merlin looked behind him to see many more people raising up their tankards.

" _Yeah!_ "

"He says he hasn't got any money." Merlin looked back to the owner as the man grabbed him by the front of his tunic, roughly pushing him so he had to stand on his toes. He thought briefly how unfair it was that the man was even able to do this, seeing as he was at least a head-length shorter than Merlin. "So it looks like you'll have to pay."

Merlin sputtered indignantly. "Wh- I can't afford this!"

He tried not to breath in through his nose as the man bared his teeth close to his face. "You better find someone who can."

He forcefully released his grip on Merlin and shoved him back. Gwaine chuckled as he stumbled, and Merlin glared at him only to watch as the rugged man faltered and fell to his arse. He kept his grin and the other patrons laughed, but Merlin only rolled his eyes.

He smiled innocently when he caught the owner glaring menacingly at him.

It was dark out by the time Merlin, supporting Gwaine, lumbered into his bedroom and deposited the intoxicated man onto his bed.

"You're the best friend I've ever had," Gwaine murmured drunkenly, collapsing onto the pillow.

"You seem to have quite a few," Merlin said.

Gwaine let out a chuckle, and Merlin couldn't help joining in. The night had been rather amusing, if one neglected the fact that Merlin was the one who would have to deal with the consequences - _Arthur_ \- in the morning.

"Oh, I'd love to see Arthur's face when he gets that bill," Gwaine continued, still smiling that ridiculous smile.

Merlin sobered. "Right," he said. "What is it with you and nobles?"

"Oh, nothing."

Merlin stared pointedly.

Gwaine sighed in clear exasperation. "Look, my father... he and my mother and my copious brothers... Well, I had a very noble and wealthy family, I suppose." He looked away. "But... I didn't much feel like I fit in there. A bunch of lying, cheating bastards, the lot of them," he explained gruffly. "'Cept... maybe not Gareth," he mumbled. "He gave me this," he said, pulling at the necklace round his neck, and Merlin leaned forward to see the silver charm he was indicating, "... before I left."

Merlin swallowed and leaned back at the choked emotion in Gwaine's voice as he muttered these words.

"Arthur... Arthur's not like that," he tried, after a long pause in which he didn't know what to say.

Gwaine snorted. "Maybe," he said, "but none of them are worth dying for, huh?" He clasped Merlin's shoulder and laughed again, before he fell back too quickly and bonked his head on the wall. "Oof." Gwaine brought a hand to the back of his head, but obviously found this as amusing as anything else, because he started laughing again.

Merlin managed to grin and chuckle a bit, but he was still caught up on Gwaine's last words.

" _... None of them are worth dying for, huh?_ "

This made Merlin think of Arthur, of his fine blond strands of hair that gleamed gold in the sun, and his brilliant blue eyes that always appeared alive and that glowed with the passion of his every emotion. He thought of his belting laughter and his private smiles, his curious gazes when he thought Merlin wasn't looking, and the fondness in them he always tried to hide.

He thought about how much Arthur cared for his kingdom and her people, about the lengths he was willing to go for anyone he cared about. He thought about his cockiness and his righteous anger, his flaws and everything that would make him the greatest king to ever rule in all of Albion.

And thinking of Arthur, he knew that he disagreed with Gwaine's statement.

He had already known that he would die for Arthur should such an incident ever present itself. He had been risking himself and all that he was for Arthur ever since he'd first stepped foot into Camelot.

 _Arthur_ was worth that, and so much more.

Arthur was also an entitled prat of royal proportions, thought Merlin the next morning.

He entered Arthur's chambers with tray laden with breakfast fit for a prince, and began, "Sorry. I know I'm late."

Arthur sat behind his desk, wearing his favorite red tunic, Merlin noticed, as well as a small frown. His elbow rested on the arm of his chair, and his hand was brought to his lips as he watched Merlin set down the tray, staring contemplatively.

"Not at all," he said. Nothing more was forthcoming.

"Um, good," Merlin said hesitantly as Arthur watched him.

He turned around, making his way over to Arthur's very large bed, and Arthur spoke once more. "Sure you're all right?" he asked. "You're not sick, unsteady, about to burst into song?"

Merlin wasn't sure if he should be amused or not. "No, why?" he asked as he pulled up Arthur's sheets and began to make up the bed.

He was fiddling with the sheets when he heard the crackle of paper and looked up. His heart immediately sank at the familiar piece of parchment that Arthur held.

It was the same one from yesterday, the one that Merlin had snuck onto his desk as he'd readied the prince for bed the night before.

"14 quarts of mead," Arthur began, and Merlin groaned miserably, making his way back around the bed. "3 flagons of wine, 5 quarts of cider - "

"I can explain."

"4 dozen _pickled eggs_."

"That was _Gwaine_."

Arthur looked up from the parchment, unimpressed, so Merlin continued. "He went to the tavern, and he couldn't pay for it."

"So you said I would," Arthur said flatly. It wasn't quite a question, but Merlin answered anyway.

"Mm. You know, if I hadn't, that innkeeper... he would've strung us both up."

Arthur blinked. "I fail to see the downside."

Merlin shrugged, turned away. "You said he should be given anything he needed."

" _4 dozen pickled eggs?!_ " Arthur shouted, and Merlin made himself turn back to face him.

"I'm sorry," he said, then started to nod decisively. "I'll pay for it."

Arthur glared, leaned forward in his chair until it squeaked, and tossed the sheet of parchment. It twirled in the air for a moment until it settled in some of the strawberries on top the tray.

"You most certainly will."

"Arthur is a thoroughbred little braggart."

"Why?"

"For making us do this."

"I think it's fair," Merlin admitted.

"For the entire army?" Gwaine demanded, gesturing to the long line of boots in front of them in need of some polishing.

Merlin paused in his scrubbing and considered his point. "If you admitted that your father's a noble, you wouldn't have to," he reminded after a moment.

"Maybe," Gwaine said. "But I'm not interested in being put in with that lot," he continued. "And if there's one thing I've learned from having to live with all them, it's that titles don't mean anything." He patted Merlin's knee with his brush, rather more roughly than was strictly necessary. Merlin grimaced. "It's what's inside that counts," he finished.

"Ow," Merlin deadpanned.

Gwaine only smiled, turning back to the boots in his hands.

"So..."

Gwaine raised an eyebrow but didn't look up. "So."

Merlin huffed, but couldn't contain his smile. "So... your leg's almost completely healed up," he said eventually, motioning to where Gwaine's bandaged wound was hidden by his trousers.

"Yep," Gwaine drawled.

Merlin sighed, making clear his exasperation with the man who was turning out to be something of a friend. "What are you going to do now?" he asked, intending to sound a bit more curious and a little less hopeful than he really was. He wasn't sure he succeeded.

Gwaine pursed his lips and said nothing for a moment. Then he shrugged, and said, "Don't know yet."

Merlin tilted his head and scrubbed with more force than was needed, trying to come up with some way to convince the man to stay in Camelot. He suddenly had an idea, and looked up.

"Hey, Gwaine?"

"Hmm?"

Merlin grinned almost impossibly widely. "How do you feel about _hammers_?"

Gwaine looked up abruptly, slightly alarmed. "What? Why?"

" _This_ is Gwen's family forge," Merlin announced, gesturing widely to the small establishment in front of them. "I believe you've met her?" he added quickly, unsure, but willing to believe so if she had known to come to Merlin after Gwaine's little tavern incident.

Gwaine, for his part, grimaced out a smile. "I've met her," he said. "Not entirely sure what she thought of me, though."

Merlin chuckled. "Well, her brother, Elyan, owns it now." He paused, looking down and swallowing the lump in his throat. "It used to belong to their father, Tom, but he's passed on, and now Elyan could use some help running the place."

Gwaine's eyebrows shot up, nearly to his hairline. "Are you suggesting I work here, Merlin?"

Merlin scrunched up his face and fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. "Well, yeah, I guess... you know, if you needed something to do, or... or, um, a reason to stay?" he finished awkwardly, his voice going oddly high-pitched. He cleared his throat. "Or maybe if you wanted to make some coin. Or something."

 _Well done, Merlin,_ he thought, wincing inwardly.

Gwaine was clearly amused, if the small grin on his face and the shine to his brown eyes were anything to go by. "I suppose I could check it out, meet this Elyan fellow," he agreed at last.

Merlin let out the long breath he'd been holding in relief, then tried to hide it with a cough and some unintelligible mumbling.

"Right," he said, and made his way to the door in the back. The anvil and slack tub and other such tools were out in the open, shaded under a wooden roof, but the living quarters were behind that, where both Elyan and Gwen usually slept.

He knocked, and waited politely with Gwaine behind him, who was gazing with interest at the tools and metals that were displayed. It only just occurred to him, of course, after a moment of waiting, that Elyan might not even be home.

Fortunately, the door opened a second later, and a familiar figure leaned outside. "Merlin!" Elyan exclaimed with a smile, clasping both hands to his shoulders and squeezing. "It's good to see you my friend," he said, then glanced behind him to Gwaine. He turned back to Merlin curiously. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually," Merlin said, and pulled back slightly so Gwaine could come forward. "Elyan, this is Gwaine," he introduced. "Gwaine - Elyan."

The two men smiled politely and shook hands. "How do you do?" Gwaine asked, once they released their grips.

"Fine, thank you. And yourself?"

Gwaine shrugged, and grinned what Merlin was coming to think of as his trademark grin. "I've been better."

Merlin quickly stepped in. "Gwaine's just come to Camelot," he explained.

Elyan nodded in recognition. "Yes, my sister mentioned you."

"Only good things, I hope?"

Elyan laughed jovially. "Oh, of course. Well, come on in, I've just made some meat pies for Gwen and myself, but I don't think she'll be coming round this evening."

Elyan stepped aside so there was room for Merlin and Gwaine to pile inside, and Merlin almost wilted at the wonderful aroma permeating from the near the tabletop. "Are you sure?" he asked, more to be civil than out of any desire turn down free food, as he was already sitting down at the table with Gwaine right behind him.

"Positive," Elyan said with a quirk of his lips. "Let me just get the water jug and a couple more cups."

Once they'd all settled at the table, they dug in, Merlin automatically pouring the water into their cups. Gwaine stuffed one of the pies almost entirely into his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing. Merlin rolled his eyes, amused.

"So, what brings you here anyway?" Elyan asked when everyone's mouths were no longer so full of hot goodness. The man sipped at his water some to cool his mouth, and Merlin noticed his eyes watering a bit from eating too quickly.

Merlin knew the feeling.

He cleared his throat, and said, "Gwaine here is going to be staying in Camelot for awhile," he looked at the man in question, who nodded his agreement, "and I thought he could use a job. Then I remembered that you were looking for some help with things around the forge. So..." he trailed off, gesturing with his hand.

Elyan was nodding, thankfully, obviously understanding his point. "I think that'd be a brilliant idea," he said enthusiastically. He turned to Gwaine, "You know anything about smithing?"

Gwaine briefly glanced to Merlin before smiling broadly. "How hard could it be?"

Elyan grinned so wide at this, Merlin was sure his cheeks must've hurt. "Just you wait," he said with a wink.

Merlin took that as the promise it was, anticipating Gwaine's first day on the job more than he had looked forward to anything for a long while. He laughed loudly with Elyan as Gwaine's smile faltered, and he took on a slightly more confused expression.

He thought, for the moment at least, that he was rather glad he already had the roles of manservant to the prince and assistant to the court physician. He certainly didn't envy Gwaine in this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Already, Gwaine was working up a sweat, and he'd only just begun his first day on the job. He swiped his wrist across his forehead, collecting the drops already settling there.

"How long until a break, do you think?" Gwaine asked, a bit more winded than he wanted to admit.

Elyan guffawed, as if Gwaine had just made a hilarious joke. Gwaine didn't think it was particularly funny.

So... maybe blacksmithing was not for him. It didn't mean he was willing to give up just yet. He still wouldn't mind a break, though.

He'd wandered over to Elyan's place that morning, expecting to hit things hard with a hammer. But apparently there was a lot more to it than that. He really shouldn't have been surprised.

"There are three methods for working iron," Elyan had said. "I call them the Three Hs: Heating, Holding, and Hitting."He'd proceeded to show Gwaine all the tools they would be working with. Gwaine concluded them as: the thing that heats the work, the things that hold the work, the thing that goes under the work, and the things that apply force to the work.

"This is the forge," Elyan had told him, gesturing, once they'd finished with the pleasantries. "You'll be working this baby for today. We'll work you up to the more difficult stuff, until you're doing what I do." He'd winked after he said this. Gwaine noticed he did that a lot.

"What are these?" he had asked, referring to some metal tools on a rack. He picked one up curiously, and spun it around his fingers.

Elyan grinned as he tied up his leather bib apron. He snatched the tool from Gwaine's clever manipulations, and held them pointedly at Gwaine's head. " _These_ are tongs," he said matter-of-factly. He arched an eyebrow, "If you can't hold it, you can't hit it."

Gwaine thought he rather had a point.

After he'd returned the tongs to their proper place, he explained the uses of vises and clamps as well. He then showed Gwaine the anvil and, in Gwaine's opinion, the most important tool in the entire smithy - the hammer.

"I know you're going to want to show off how powerful you are," Elyan said as he gripped one of the hammers tightly in his fist - and Gwaine really didn't know where he'd gotten that idea - "... but blacksmithing isn't so much about strength as it is control."

He'd later learn just how right the other man was.

Elyan left off with one piece of advice before they got to work, which Gwaine had paid attention to more than anything else.

" _There are no mistakes_ ," he'd stressed. "And there are second chances - both in metal, and in men."

When the sun peaked in the sky that spring afternoon, Elyan finally deemed it a good time to stop for a lunch break. Gwaine didn't even bother to hide his huff of relief, as he was exhausted and wet with his own perspiration. And he'd only been working the forge.

Fortunately, the dark-skinned man wasn't one to judge.

"I'm meeting up with my sister," Elyan said, finishing wiping his face with what once might have been a white cloth. "Care to join us?"

Gwaine nodded his assent as he sipped at a cup of water he'd gotten for himself and thought, what the hell, dumping the rest over his head, through his hair and over the back of his neck. He shivered at the coolness of it contrasting with the heat of his skin.

When Gwaine followed Elyan to _The Rising Sun_ after they had finished putting things away, he couldn't hold back an ironic smile. And, to his surprise, it appeared they would not be dining with just the three of them. As Elyan led him to a table in the back of the tavern, where it was reasonably darker and quieter, he noticed two men already sitting there, chatting with Gwen.

After a closer look, Gwaine realized that they were the two blokes he had met the other day - the chivalrous one and his incredibly tall friend. The more the merrier, as he always thought, and he loved to impress a crowd.

Elyan had reached their table by the time the group had looked up collectively, and Gwaine stood a polite distance behind as brother and sister kissed one another on the cheek and the men clapped each other on the back warmly in greeting.

Then Elyan was turning to him, and saying, "This here's Gwaine." He looked back at Gwen, "I told you he was working with me at the forge now."

"Oh yes, I remember," she replied, grinning and nodding to Gwaine.

"I do believe we've met," said the man to the right of Gwen, and his smile practically lit up his warm brown eyes. "Briefly, in any case. I'm Lancelot."

He held out his hand, which Gwaine shook firmly, relaxing into the comfortable atmosphere the small group was pervading. "Lovely to see you again," he said, smiling confidently. He moved his gaze to the blond, brawny man, and his breath very briefly caught in his throat when he saw light blue gazing right back at him. Shaking himself mentally, he thrust his hand out to him, "And what about you?"

The man's hand - calloused, warm, and larger than Gwaine thought possible - grasped Gwaine's in a grip so tight, he rather thought his bones might crush to dust under his skin. He swallowed thickly.

"Percival," was all he said.

"Percival's not a man of many words," Lancelot put in helpfully. "But when he does have something to say, it would do good to listen." He winked knowingly at Gwaine, which confused Gwaine slightly in turn. He quickly shook it off, however, and sat in the last empty seat next to Percival, as Elyan already claimed the one on the other side of his sister.

"So, what brings you to Camelot, Gwaine?" Lancelot asked once they were all settled had ordered themselves a flagon of mead and their respective meals.

"The prince and his manservant, as it happens," Gwaine smirked.

His statement was met with various looks of intrigue, and Lancelot raised a brow questioningly. "I sense a story."

Gwaine settled as comfortably as physically possible on his chosen wooden bench, and proceeded to tell them of his and Arthur and Merlin's acquaintance and how it came to be so. He conveniently left out the part where he'd been stabbed in the leg by a slimy bastard and subsequently fainted like a dainty maiden girl. Instead, he said that he'd decided to tag along with them back to Camelot, as he hadn't been for some time - read, _never_ \- and found himself in a position he had never been in before.

"Thought I'd stay a while," he finished. "I'll probably work with Elyan here," he nodded to the dark-skinned man who was nursing one of the tankards of mead someone had brought them during Gwaine's retelling, "until I decide to do something else. I don't tend to stay in one place very long."

"I think you'll like it in Camelot," Gwen chimed in once he'd finished. "You'll probably want to stay longer than you think." Her eyes slid to Lancelot at this, Gwaine noticed with interest, and Lancelot was smiling softly.

"She's right," he said.

Gwaine hid his doubt with a grin. "We'll see."

"It's true," said Elyan. "I used to be just like you, Gwaine. Living without a plan and without a care in the world can be thrilling, sure. Freeing, even. But it's nice to have some place to call home." He looked to Gwen.

Gwaine gulped down what liquid remained in his cup, his thoughts flashing back to his own home. Not that he had ever really considered it terribly homely.

His 'running away' might have seemed like cowardice to some, but he didn't like to think of it that way. He'd hated it there, hated being the middle child, hated the way he was always treated by his own blood. They didn't need him anyway. He wasn't the one with a massive weight on his shoulders. His older brother was a pompous ass, but could handle pressure just fine. The man was born the type to run a kingdom. And he'd do it just fine without Gwaine.

He almost choked on his tongue when Percival moved at his side and cleared his throat quietly. He'd almost forgotten the man was even there, he was so quiet. He probably would've entirely if the man was any smaller than he was.

Suddenly the group went absolutely silent, and he thought Elyan might've even looked a little guilty. Gwaine, interested in this sudden twist in the, until now, relaxed air of these four friends, turned to Percival curiously.

The large man caught his eye briefly, then looked away. He cleared his throat once more, louder this time. "I used to live in a small village southeast of here, on the border between Nemeth and Essetir," he began to explain quietly. "We were a poor village, mostly ignored, devoted neither to Rodor nor Lot." He lowered his head, "I was out hunting for a day, something I did a lot, when Lot's men raided our village."

Gwaine swallowed thickly when he heard this.

"When I came back, it was to houses on fire. Smoke filled the air so thickly, I could hardly see or breathe. Women and children were captured, men slaughtered like animals. They took what they found useful and burnt the rest. My mother, father, and two sisters were killed that day."

Gwaine was frozen where he sat, ill to his stomach. Lot. King Lot. King Lot his... father.

His father had had his men murder Percival's entire family. Because of his father, the man no longer had a home.

He thought he was going to be sick, and for the first time ever he did not want to drink anymore.

When he had left his home, and his family, he'd spared no thought for what exactly he was leaving behind. During his time as son to a king, he was (admittedly) probably a bit of a brat, at least in his younger years. And now that he truly thought about it, he couldn't remember any specific occasions when he thought about someone other than himself.

He'd left because _he_ didn't like living there. Not even the thought of the one person he actually cared about could get him to stay. Gwaine had left his brother to save himself from the wolves, because _he_ couldn't do it anymore.

How many other people had succumbed to the fate of his father's brutality? Had he really left what were essentially his subjects to the deeds of a cruel king, and not even think twice about it? He had. He'd left, and kept on leaving every single place he went. Kept on running away.

So _they_ could never find him and drag him back, kick and scream though he might.

He gripped his necklace tight, feeling guiltier about his decision to leave than he had ever allowed himself to feel before.

"I cannot remember much after that," Percival said, snapping Gwaine's attention back to him. "All I know was that I was enraged. I went on a rampage - I swear all I could see, think was red. Once I'd calmed down, I was kneeling in a puddle of blood, numb." His eyes went glassy for a moment, "I had never killed anybody before that."

Lancelot coughed, and his voice was low when he said, "I found him there. I was journeying to Camelot when I saw the smoke." Gwen squeezed his arm, almost as if to bring him comfort. His hand found hers. "I convinced him to come with me."

Lancelot and Percival shared a look - a look between brothers. Gwaine looked away, feeling like he was intruding on something intimate. He had never had any kind of relationship like the ones these people obviously shared with each other. He didn't think he had ever felt more like an outsider in his life than he did now. Not even his first sixteen years spent with his dysfunctional and abominable family.

He licked his lips and forced himself to look back. "What happened when you got here?"

Lancelot and Percival turned back to him, and the pain and suffering swept off their faces as one. Percival looked amused and Lancelot smirked.

"We met Merlin."

Gwaine's whole body relaxed from its tense position that it had taken on at some point during the conversation.

"Of course you did."


End file.
